


Serpent Tempter

by sinister666



Category: The Conjuring (Movies), The Nun (2018)
Genre: Blasphemy, Demonic Seduction, F/M, I am still grasping the art of writing porn don't go too harsh on me, I have been toying with this idea ever since I saw the nun, biblical erotica, biblical metaphors, serpent tempter, sex is the key to sin, turning away from faith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 08:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16059656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinister666/pseuds/sinister666
Summary: The demon calls Sister Irene through the shadows of night, and she has no intention of resisting.





	Serpent Tempter

**Author's Note:**

> I at last did flesh out this idea which has been a favorite of mine smut wise. I am still learning on that matter, so constructive criticism welcome. I am genuinely curious what do you folks think. Also, before you scream "zoophilia", remember the words "biblical erotica". I depict Valak's snake form as the Serpent Tempter, not as an animal.

“Irene…” a voice echoed through eerie, nocturnal corridors of the ancient abbey, voice ethereal and venomous, soaked in silken malevolence. The young novice shuddered, frail grip tightening on the dusty lantern in her hand, clutching the meekly pulsating flame closer as if desperately shielding herself from lingering, coldly breathing darkness all around. If only a needle could defend a child against a bear… Deep down her painfully palpitating heart, Irene fully comprehended how helpless she stood against the sombre evil dripping from the walls, plaguing the air, yet decided to inhale deeply, stepping forward instead of retreating like any sane person would. “Who-... Who’s here?.. Show yourself!” the novice piped into the shadows. Foolish idea… “Irene…” the voice sounded once again, with no true response, only calling her name. Not threatening, but rather beckoning, crawling under her skin and latching onto her bones, tugging seductively, pulling her close in gentle forcefulness. Irene bit her lip harshly, fighting the urge to succumb and follow it’s diabolical coaxing as if a blinded man tearing every idle direction, whimpering as rough, metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. “Come to me, Irene… we both know how much you long to... why do you cling to the pointless battle?..”. “Where are you?!” she shouted angrily, slowly growling frantic, whiskey-hued gaze darting around only to be caught in a blur. “Follow my voice, Irene. Follow your heart...” words tickled her mind, deep and husky, ungodly in their charm. Petrified, a part of Irene realized - just how, reading the Bible, she had always imagined Lucifer to sound, offering Eve the Forbidden Fruit. Irresistible… tears streaming down her tender, rosy cheeks, the young novice turned around, not even noticing a whirl of chilly, cackling wind had blown out her lantern, taking away the last resort of light. Will God ever forgive her?... Will Mary now shun her with disgust?.. Was this reality, or a dream, a vision, blasphemously poisoning her thoughts?.. Her soul was weak, and she could withstand this torment anymore. 

 

Of all the disfigured visages, of all hellish specters she had braced herself to encounter at the end of her journey of few moments which seemed to last aeons, last thing Irene expected was to be confronted with her own, beautiful and frightened face reflected by a gloomy, towering mirror set in front of her. Gravely moonlight spilled into the hall through glassless, pointy window arcs, rippling through and tearing obscure cloths of murk that clouded her sight, allowing the novice to clearly behold her fragility. Youthful face now drained of blood by fear and doubt, light auburn hair loose and uncovered by the habit, white dress, a symbol of purity which slipped further and further away... A gasp escaped Irene’s slightly parted lips, fingers losing the hold of her empty lantern, letting it shatter loudly against gray dead stone, for truly, she found herself not alone in this bizzare, ominous setting. From behind the enormous mirror, a huge serpent revealed itself, sleek black scales glistening in shades of emerald when touched by pale luminousness. “Irene…” the voice, the very same voice which lured her here rung in the creature’s hiss as it slithered close, locking her still, binding it’s, or was it a he, prey in place. “Irene...” lengthy, muscular form curled around the novice’s feet, sliding up to her shins like a rope tying a dove’s wings together, a dove’s ready for slaughter, unearthly yellow orbs burning from the serpent’s sockets fixated up at her “My dear Irene…” it lulled, long, forked tongue oozing with sinister, false sympathy, and it appeared to Irene he was smirking “Why do you weep?..”. “What…” her voice trembled,  cracking and faded “What did you do to the Sisters?.. W-What… do you want… from me?”. “What befell the Sisters…” he whispered “Is no menace to you, my little treasure. Let Seven Headed Dragon command me, I’d still refuse to hurt you”. “You… did not reply” Irene swallowed, nearly choking on a lump growing in her throat “What… do you want from me?..”. His nose brushed lightly against her knee, and she shivered, tingling even through the fabric “There is so much potential in you, my darling. Such a vivid, gorgeous flame dimmed and caged. I want to liberate you”. Irene shook her head, in this unfolding havoc still somehow resistant “I’m tired of your deceit. Is it my soul you seek? Is it my body to posses, granting you escape from this forgotten pit? Speak the truth… demon”. Low, guttural laughter so unlike a snake rumbled from the infernal agent’s lungs - mixture of malice and amusement. “Feisty” he commented, tightening around her shins “You intrigued me from very start, little Irene. Now, you thrill me even more. Few dare speak so boldly to me… I did speak the truth, no matter how loudly your mind resists to believe. I do long fo free you, caged pretty thing… to make you taste the Forbidden Fruit”. “I’m not Eve” the novice grimaced “I will not give in”. “And I’m not Lucifer. How long are you going to keep fighting, Irene? When shall you see no duel needs to happen between us two?.. You and me, in tender embrace of the night. There is no need to deny these knots of lust budding in your stomach, or the mist weaving around your sanity. You can run from me, but not your desire, my little jewel. You tell yourself Forbidden Fruit appals you, yet we both know the desert of thirst grows hotter and hotter as I speak. Your own thoughts morph into glimpses of what it could taste like, of what I could show you, teach you, make you feel… You asked what I want from you… I want you to look into the mirror, and drink the beauty falsely frowned upon as vain. I want the power you so willingly pass into the grasp of a tyrant, greedy God to breach inside you. I want to sink my teeth into your ripe breasts, I want your glorious thighs to part for me. I want to rip you out of Mary’s wailful fingers as I claim the sweet blossom between your legs, crying with wetness for me”. 

 

Every profanity uttered caused Irene’s body to grow more and more incandescent, each fiber shuddering and howling. Veins booming wide, crimson sap of life raging and bubbling, last string of the novice’s control over her own body exploded. Fevered hands roamed rustling white cloth, low moans spilling from her mouth uncontained. Burning, she was burning in Hell! Before stumbling in through the door she knew that God ends here. Wheezing lungs filled with hot steam, and she found herself gasping for air.  Her dress now seemed a prison of forged iron, dungeon suffocating her, holding back the yarning begging to be set free. Yelping in displeasure, Irene abandoned sense, abandoned all devotion, fiddling with buttons and prying her robe of modesty open, letting it gracefully slide down, landing as if a summer’s cloud around her feet. While she now stood a goddess above it’s skies, porcelain skin bare for cool air’s nips, and blasphemous touch of a serpent tempter’s scales. Her breathing grew rapid, vision spinning as a caleidoscope. Nudity, for years hidden and shamed, now shone in all majesty living only in a woman. Body frail like a violin’s string, fairer than any ballad of dreamy bards could describe -  delicate collarbones, small breasts, blushing, round as if apples, soft flat stomach, thin elegant legs, tiny feet and hidden, swelling intimate lips that now drooled nectar, leaking in silvery drops. Was it though still dusted by holiness she betrayed?.. Irene was to have those last remaining crystals wrecked, painted bloodstained red. “Taint me” once again, the novice came face to face with the serpent her foe “Defile me”. 

 

Hissing in victorious satisfaction, Valak crawled onto her lean body, curling around her thigh, her hips and waist, head rising from her slender shoulder thus his wedge-shaped snout brushed against her petite neck, against the pale shell of her ear. Irene tilted her head, watching sin unfold luscious in the mirror, admiring the large, horrendously handsome asp fondle her uncorrupted form just as Lucifer long, long ago embraced the very first woman. Valak… his name, his very weakness, could it be?.. Flickering briefly inside her skull. “Oh yes, my dear” velvety points of the demon’s tongue caressed her gentle jawline. Perhaps a right guess, or perhaps her thoughts were invaded “You do know my name… And I do promise to earn you wailing it’s every syllable in ecstasy” narrow point of his rough, cold tail pushed itself between silky folds of her flesh, lightly as a feather pressing against the sensitive, astir bud of her clitoris. Irene mewled, the sensation so faint, but so ruthless. Her lower half contracted almost painfully, responsive to the teasing, begging for more. Already clotted bite wound on her lip re-opened in frustration, the novice found it incredibly difficult to stand upright. Valak laughed, amused “Impatient little thing, aren’t you?..” the viper roused his newfound lover, grinding a little harder against her clitoris “So eager to have me inside...”. The tip of his tail trailed along her heated entrance, wallowing in slick. “Yes…” Irene whimpered, head spinning, nerves sizzling as if a lighting bolt had struck her. “Yes… Take me… Drag me to Hell, Valak!..” she breathed, possessed by raw, primeval lust, surrendering to his loving cruelty. “Do not close your eyes” the serpent commanded, pressed against her temple, looping around her throat and squeezing faintly. Lips agape, she had no choice but obey, indulge in his lead, trust him completely. The picture vibrated and melted, for she trembled in unknown, unexplored sensation. Valak thrust himself into her warm, divine core, basking in the feeling of Irene welcoming in his tail, her mellow virginity tearing against it’s sharpness. Nothing could feel as savory as deflowering a young saint’s innocence, and see her rejoice. Irene cried out, violent pain forcing through ever building excitement. “Shhhsss…” Valak cooed, creeping down to her breast, fangs seizing one stiff, peachy nipple and sinking into it, pouring venom to plague her lifesap, intoxicate her, strengthen sensations which abused her body a hundred times more. His tail curled inside her womanhood, rubbing the toughest, sweetest spot, jabbing further and further, until he squeezed against the bottom of her womb. Irene wailed loudly, seeing stars. Nerves bulging and strained, mind dragged into a whirl of flashes and intense propulsions of agonizing pleasure. Limbs giving in, she collapsed onto the ground, feeling as if her limp form hand sunk into burgundy silk cushions, Valak’s slim, powerful form not letting her go, pulsating around her, asphyxiating her as hoarsely, she screamed his name “Valak!.. Oh, Valak!”. His tongue rolled around her tender nipples, tail twisting and thrusting inside her, ruthlessly pumping her blood with pleasure. Irene threw her head backwards, moaning lowly, panting and arching her spine, nails digging into stone, nearly cracking. The novice could not care less, clinging for dear life at anything her defenseless, blazing self could reach. Light auburn hair had spread like a halo cast down, messy and tousled. Slim hips bucked upwards, meeting each invasion of Valak’s with rapture. Bruises already bloomed like violets on her ivory skin under the pressure he caused. 

 

Orgasm struck Irene garish as Armageddon itself, shattering her completely. A screech erupted from her throat, echoing through the castle. Only the demon’s serpentine grip prevented her from convulsing and thrashing. She rose to the Pinnacle, surrounded by white light, dissolving in it but still somehow feeling every spear-like beam of it. Such terrifyingly intense pleasure absorbed, her, numbing the world around her completely, as if for a beautiful moment it spun out of existence completely. Beautiful moment which soon faded into serene fog enveloping her limp, sweat-drenched body. Half-lidded eyes found Valak’s ,now relaxed on top of her, sulphurous gaze, admiring the masterpiece of sin he had shaped out of the god-loving novice. Perhaps he did speak, taunt her or flatter her, Irene could not tell. The very second it rebuilt herself from shimmering rubble, her consciousness slipped into thoughtless, dreamless oblivion - such immense was her exhaustion, every last tear of vigor drained by taste of the Forbidden Fruit. 

 

Valak released his sweet young lover’s ragdoll-resembling body, the serpent puffing into a heavy cloud of black smoke, only to manifest as a tall, cloaked figure kneeling beside Irene’s tranquil frame, crooked horns on his head, glowing, devilish gaze - the same. The same as the bestial serpent’s, and as horrific specter’s in the shape of a ghastly nun, creeping through the haunting corridors at the dead of midnight. Razor-sharp talons ghosted over Irene’s still flushed cheek, head tilted as the demon silently marveled at his prey. So much greater than she could ever have imagined, sheltered and enslaved by his sheep-headed enemies in Vatican… Little dove set free, now. His. His only, his alone. Irene, his sweet jewel, she was to experience pleasure so much deeper than her very first time upon waking up. Oh, but ancient him was patient, he could wait, he shall let her rest. The President of Hell knew next time she was not to resist, but surrender from very beginning, craving the rapture too violently. She was to rise as his Queen, his Equal, his terrifying Persephone. 

 

Robust arms cradled the novice close, heat of his sombre body shielding her naked fragility, marked by bleeding punctures and brute stains turning greenish, from the cold as he prowled down crumbling stairwells and moldy, damp cellars towards the rift in the ground which breathed embers of hell, smirking maliciously, sensing the exorcist only now awake. How too late the pathetic maggot was… Devil’s Bride had cast the Savior aside. 


End file.
